May 5, 2010 Geneva
From the very beginning, one of my main concerns about this trip was security. I had read too many warning signs, in guidebooks and newspaper articles, about bands of gypsies and hoodlums crowding around you, then dispersing and leaving you without your wallet, watch and other prized personal possessions.
So, throughout, I was extra careful, constantly checking for my wallet’s and cellphone’s presence, in my front pocket, and always in the lookout for would-be depriver of all that is dear to me.
It is ironic, then, that on my next to last leg of my journey, in what conceivably is the safest city in the world, I lost my ring.
Nobody took it; only my carelessness is responsible. I’m pretty sure it slipped out as I dried my hands in one of my trips to the bathroom. It was fitting a bit tight on my ring finger, so I switched it to my little finger where it was, off course, it was too loose. I should have put it in my pocket instead, but I foolishly didn’t.
And now my ring is gone, that beautiful silver ring with a tiny green stone I bought in San Miguel several years ago, at a neat little shop owned by a friend of a friend.
I hope a good person finds it and I hope that he gets as much enjoyment from that ring as I did. I can’t mourn over its disappearance. It was a thing and things are not meant to be mourned.